Encrimsoned
by sporksareweird
Summary: So much blood.  I stand in the middle of it all, surveying my handiwork.  Because, of course, it is I who spilled so much.  Who else could it have been?


Here is another oneshot from me. That's all I seem to be good for nowadays. Oh well. I had this plotbunny last night while I was trying to get to sleep. I should have just gotten up and written it right then, but I didn't. So, this didn't turn out as well as i wanted, but I think its alright. I got the idea from book 22 of _The Odyssey. _There is a passage describing Odysseus after he has killed all of the suitor who had overrun his home and I just really like the adjective they used to describe him as he was totally covered in blood: encrimsoned. Thus, this story was born. The whole thing about the mountain lion is also inspired by that passage. Enjoy!

**Warning: There is much talk of blood in this fic. If you don't like blood, I'd advise you not to read this, sad though it may make me.**

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Blood.

So much blood.

I stand in the middle of it all, surveying my handiwork. Because, of course, it is I who spilled so much. Who else could it have been?

It covers the walls, stands in pools on the ground, and oozes slowly from the wounds of dead men. It runs in rivulets down my blade, slowly being cast off to form a new pool of its own.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The smell of it, that coppery tang reminiscent of battle, fills my nose. The smell is so overpowering it turns my stomach, but I do not heave. I simply stand, perfectly erect, in the epicenter of the chaos. The splashes on the walls do not faze me. The sticky pools, gradually congealing, are simply blotches of color. They hold no meaning for me.

I know they should. In so many other situations I would have this odd, sick feeling, knowing that it was I who had caused such destruction. Not now, of course. Now I passively survey my victory, feeling an odd sense of righteousness as my eyes alight upon the prone figure of a guard. We tend to try to avoid killing, as a rule, but in battle sometimes it cannot be helped. We are ninja, after all. But not this time. This time, the death was deliberate; killing strokes were employed in place of those that would simply disarm or force my adversary into unconsciousness. And I do not feel remorse for this.

Because, you see, these men threatened my brothers.

They disappeared on me a few nights ago. Two of them were out on patrol, and one was engaged in his own pursuits, leaving me alone at home. They called me at exactly 11:23, telling me that they had all met up in some alley and that they were on their way home. I should expect them in fifteen minutes.

45 minutes later, I began to get worried. I called all of their shell cells, but they all just rang and rang. I called April and Casey to see if either of them had seen my brothers, but they both said no, hadn't seen them for hours. I tried to track them through their shell cells, but the signal was being blocked somehow. Master Splinter attempted to reach them on the astral plane, but all he could tell was that they were alive and held captive somewhere.

Two hours later I was bounding along the rooftops, searching for some sort of sign of them. On top of a rooftop that was three buildings away from the manhole that we usually used to get to the lair, I found an empty syringe, cracked and kicked into a small crevice on the roof's uneven surface.

Four hours later, Leatherhead helped me to confirm that the residue in the syringe was that of a sedative. My brothers had been drugged by their attackers, a cowardly tactic used by the weak to overpower the strong.

By that time it was morning, and I had to discontinue my search until night fell once more. I spent the day being irritable and jumpy, even snapping at Master Splinter when he tried to calm me down. I apologized at once, but I vowed to myself then that those who took my brothers would very sorely regret it.

Once I was free to move about under the cover of darkness once more, I pounded the pavement. I didn't know what I was looking for, but it felt more useful than just sitting in the lair. After several hours I felt dejected and angry, having found nothing. I was seriously considering just heading back when three men came into my alley. I quickly jumped behind a dumpster, leaning slightly around the side to see and hear them. They were all three of them completely drunk. Two of them were laughing at the third, who seemed anxious for them to understand what he was explaining to them.

"No, seriously you guys, they're giant freakin' turtles! An' they talk an' everythin'!"

I sat bolt upright at this. My brothers. This man had seen my brothers.

"No way, Spacks," one of the other two men guffawed. "Just how drunk were you?"

"I'm serious, Lawall! I wasn' drunk! I tol' ya, I'm workin' for this weird guy, don't talk much. He gave us all these needle things with sleeping juice in 'em and he led us to this rooftop. Sure enough, these three came outta nowhere, Lawall, outta freakin' nowhere! They seemed ta know the guy, because they drew these weapons, and then they charged us. Scariest damn thing I've ever seen, man. Woulda tore us to shreds, too, if we hadn't got the needles in their arms. Wasn' easy, either."

As the first two men continued to rib the third, I slid smoothly from my hiding place. When I was within a few feet from him, I brought my arm around and restrained him, pulling him back against my chest.

"Where are they?" I hissed into his ear. The guy looked like he was going to faint. His buddies looked stunned.

"A giant turtle, Lawall! I tol' ya!" He shouted at the first man. He just stared dumbly at me. I yanked the man roughly and repeated the question in an even harsher voice.

"I-I-I'm not supposeta tell-" he began.

"Does it look like I care? Do you really have any other choice right now?" I ground out.

He stammered that they were being kept in an old fishery on dock 22 on Long Island.

"See? Wasn't that easy?" I murmured, letting him go and melting into the shadows. I heard the other men's alarmed shouts and the dull thud of Spacks hitting the ground. Fainted, no doubt. Wimp.

I located the fishery with ease, though it took me a while to get there. I peered in the windows and found a few men milling about, armed with machetes. I stealthily crept through one where the pane had been broken by a thrown rock or something of the sort, and followed the men to their destination.

There was a long hallway with a stainless steel door at the end that was swarming with the machete toting creeps. The door looked like it was the entrance to what could have been a freezer or a cooler at one time. I knew in my heart that behind that door I would find my brothers, I could just feel it.

I strode confidently toward the men, as the hallway was narrow and well lit, providing me with no place to hide. They laughed at me, telling me that I should just turn back now because there was no way I could defeat all of them. At this prompting, I launched into my attack.

I lost my own weapons early, as I was trying less to take these guys out and more to snake my way through to release my brothers to join the fight. As they clattered to the floor and out of sight under a hospital gurney, the captain of the men, who had goaded me before, stepped forward and sneered.

"See that gurney, freak? That's to hold your brother. We were on our way to euthanize him when you showed up and got in our way. But you shouldn't worry about him; he's going to be dissected. His sacrifice will help science. Isn't that comforting, freak?" He cackled madly, and the other men joined in.

A strange buzzing sensation began to build in my head. Euthanize? My brother? MY brother? I didn't think so. No, that definitely wasn't going to happen.

I took advantage of their mirth induced distraction to fell one with a quick twist of his neck. I felt the spine give and he slithered, lifeless, to the floor. The laughter cut off abruptly as I hefted his machete in my hands and glanced at the leader. He had unsheathed his weapon and was looking a little scared. Good. I smiled without humor and began the slaughter.

As I look at it now, I know that I have no regrets. These men, their leader, the gurney. All would have conspired to end my brother's life. What plans they had made for my other two brothers I will never know, but whatever they were, I had not allowed them to happen. I pad slowly to the door at the end of the hallway, my feet leaving sticky red footprints behind to mark my progress. I come to the door and lift the handle, but the lock is engaged and I cannot open it. I calmly walk back to the body of the leader, headless now as a result of that strange buzzing rage, and fish in his pocket for a key. Once that has been obtained I make my way back to the door, insert the key into the lock, and pull the door open.

My brothers are there, bound with ropes to large posts in the ground. They gape at me, seemingly in horror, and I imagine myself as they see me.

I am sure I seem like a mountain lion, spattered and caked with blood after he has gorged himself on his kill. I could feel the blood glistening over my entire plastron, even smeared upon my jaws, covered in it up from my legs and thighs to my arms and hands.

They continue to stare at me, unable to speak. I offer them a small smile and a shrug, and busy myself with cutting through their restraints. In the next moment I am bombarded with questions: How did you find us? Where the shell are we? Are you hurt?

But not one wondered aloud how I become so slathered with blood.

We moved out into the hallway, my three brothers trailing behind me. A sharp intake of breath and a low whistle tell me they are surveying the outcome of my battle, but I am not looking at them. I am looking for my weapons. I find them there, under the gurney, miraculously spared from a single blood drop.

I lean down and carefully retrieve my nunchaku, replacing them in by bloodstained belt. I turn to my brothers and say "Let's go home."

And I lead the way out.

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Did anybody guess it was Mikey? Something I quick want to say about the way I wrote him. I know he's not all funny and stuff, and some of you may be thinking "That was way too serious to be Mikey," but I just want to say that this is how I think his super serious, deadly ninja self would think. He is very creative and expressive, so I believe that he could use language like this. But that's just my thought. Tell me what YOU think! 


End file.
